


all the fire in the sky, i can see it in your eyes

by withkissesfour



Category: Janet King (TV)
Genre: F/F, Library Sex, Smut, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 11:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11184594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withkissesfour/pseuds/withkissesfour
Summary: A collection of tumblr prompts for Janet and Bianca, badass cop/lawyer team, actual girlfriends in love.





	all the fire in the sky, i can see it in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> matildaswan asked for: library sex; private/study library or big ol public library, writer's choice.

‘You know the internet exists, right?’

She throws her head back, throws a smirk, throws her hand out for Bianca to take as she drags her further down the long and narrow aisle, beneath the towering bookshelves. ‘This is better.’

‘How?’

‘The smell.’

‘It smells boring.’

‘Just  _ wait.’ _

Her gallop slows to a saunter, and she runs a finger over the spine of a book or two before she pauses, squints, cranes her neck. The volume sits just out of reach - cracked and yellowed. The volume is squashed between precedent and precedent, dissent and dissent, and she stretches, strains on tipped toes to grasp it, huffs when she cannot. 

She can feel the warmth of Bianca’s body, can feel her hand gripping her shoulder as she reaches forward. She untucks it easily from its nook, from its dusty hiding place, and Janet swivels, eyes bright. She thumbs the pages of the heavy book, flicks it open, smooths the words with a slender finger, reverent. 

‘Go on, get right in there.’

‘Weirdo’, Bianca mumbles, but buries her nose between two pages anyway, inhales the odd combination of old ink and old pages (chemicals disintegrating against chemicals) that makes her dizzy.

‘Better than sex.’

Bianca peers up at her then, and Janet grins wide, tongue through her teeth. She is pressed against the shelves, books jutting into her back, chest pressed against her chest; a little breathless, a little warm.

‘I beg to differ.’

‘Oh yeah?’

Bianca surges forward then, catches her lips in a kiss, deep and long and messy. She hears, she thinks, the clatter of the book (old, forgotten) to the floor, cannot bring herself to care. Bianca runs her tongue along her teeth, runs her hands along the curve of her arse, before she pulls away a little.

‘Yeah’, she breathes.

Janet leans back, sucks a breath in, runs a finger across Bianca’s kiss-pink mouth, the line of her jaw, the shell of her ear. There is a Sunday morning joy to her, an ease, a loveliness which hangs in her hair, sits in the creases around her eyes, hides in the folds at the bottom of her jeans; knocks the breath out of Janet. It's easy to forget, she thinks, in the chaos of children, in the battle of weekdays; but she’s loves her, loves her,  _ loves her;  _ feels full to the brim with it.

She pulls her closer then, against her mouth then, tells her as much, tells her yes,  _ yes, please  _ as Bianca’s hands skim the top of her pants (fingers still, eyes searching, mouth mischievous).

Janet fumbles, tangles her hands in Bianca’s blouse and finds purchase against her hips; her waist. She grips tight, hard and bruising, as Bianca moves her hand beneath her jeans, beneath her underwear, fingers against her wet heat. Bianca peers up at her then. 

‘For me?’ she whispers, grins, smug; catches Janet’s gaze for a moment. 

Janet flashes her a smile, steals a kiss, throws her head back when Bianca moves her fingers. She gasps, sighs, moans as Bianca kisses a line down the column of her throat; as her fingers shift and her heart is light, the ends of every nerve, the gaps between every synapse feel  _ electric _ , set alight. She feels everything, feels amazing, feels on the edge of something wonderful, and she lets out a moan, and her eyes widen. 

She catch the sight of the high ceiling, then. She catches sight of the elaborate plasterwork. Her feet whack against the volume on the floor, and her head knocks, knocks, knocks uncomfortably against the books behind her. 

‘ _ Wait _ .’

Bianca pulls away, hair a mess, eyes wild, confused, worried. She runs a hand along Janet’s arm, shoulders, neck, cheek, looking her over, furrows her brow when she can’t find a thing wrong. 

‘What - what is it?’ 

‘Not in front of the books.’

Janet is a shambles, hair haphazard, pants unbuttoned, shirt askew and underwear soaked through. Janet is a  _ mess _ , a serious mess, and Bianca tries to stifle a giggle. She fails, quite spectacularly, barks out a laugh as she rests her head against Janet’s shoulder; before pulling away, rearranging her blouse.

‘What?’

‘Well, I mean - what will they think of me?’ 

She gestures to the books, stretching out, above and behind her, the stern line of red and blue,  _ COMMONWEALTH LAW REPORTS  _ printed (faded) on the covers, on the spines. She clears her throat, blushes a little, still on edge a little. 

‘I don’t - I -’, Bianca mouth splits into a grin, spilling over with affection, and she leans forward, buttons her jeans, kisses her - kisses her until she grins as well. ‘God. I love you, you  _ nerd. _ ’

*

There is a precarious pile of books, heaved onto the edge of the large desk in the centre of the room. There is a chair tucked into either side. There are a jumble of their papers, empty mugs, empty wine glasses, spread across the wood, and her shoes by the door, and her slippers under the table. There is space made, in this room, in this house, this  _ home _ , for Bianca. There is a life carved out her. There are keys by the door, and her cereal in the cupboard, and her clothes in the wardrobe - a life lived with Janet, and it feels right, feels good, to have her in it, feels like she couldn’t live without it,  _ her _ , really. 

‘Quiet house’, she mumbles, the twins away for the night. Bianca shoots her a smile, as Janet stands back to appraise the mess. She shuffles out of her shoes and begins to shuffle from the room. 

‘I’ll leave you to it.’

Janet sidesteps, catches her, a hand against her stomach. She starts to move her back, towards the desk. 

‘Quiet house’, she repeats; quirks an eyebrow, cocks her head. Bianca grins, wide, as her thighs hit the edge of the desk, as Janet moves forward, works at her blouse, quickly abandoned on the floor nearby. 

Her fingers, usually deft, fumbling now, desperate now, move to work at the clasp of her bra; and she bends to mouth the swell of her breasts (covers each nip with a kiss). Her bra is flung to the side, lands atop the pile of books, and Janet swirls her tongue over a hard nipple, moves her hands to the buttons of her jeans. Bianca grips her hips then, her arms, her wrists.

‘Wait, wait’, she says, breath laboured. ‘What about the books?’

‘Oh’, Janet pauses, grins. She eyes the pile next to them. She eyes the papers, pushed away, pushed onto the floor; eyes Bianca. Bianca, who leans against the desk, whose bare chest heaves,  whose eyes are earnest. She feels her knees give way a little, colour rush to her face, heat rush between her legs - and she wants to fuck her, and she wants to  _ marry  _ her. ‘Oh, screw that.’

She pulls Bianca from the desk, for a moment, so she can push her jeans, her underwear, down her legs - until they pool at her feet. She kicks them away, and helps Bianca up a little, shuffles her back on the desk a little, spreads her thighs a little, so she can move in between them. She’s close, even closer, as Bianca hooks her legs around her thighs and yanks her forward into a kiss. It’s all tongues, and teeth, and dirty talk. Janet bites, moans, whispers, against her mouth (neck, breast, sternum) that she’ll never get any work done in here, not ever again, that won’t be able to think about anything but Bianca, naked and perched on her desk, that she’ll bring herself off at the thought of it. 

Bianca lets out a breathy sigh, and Janet traipses her hand towards the space between them, then, fingers sliding between the folds, finds her wet and waiting. Janet raises an eyebrow, watches Bianca’s smile, matching her own wicked one, fall open - her head fall back - when she slips a finger inside. 

Bianca cants her hips up against Janet’s hands, her usual patience replaced with a desperate, wild,  _ more _ ; with a sigh, when Janet adds a second finger, when Janet begins to thrust. Her free hand moves to grasp the small of her back, dancing over the tattoo around her hip, over the dimples above her arse, to hold her steady as she fucks her in earnest.

There is a rhythmic creak to the desk, which almost swallows the gasps, the small yelps Bianca emits, muffled when she bites her lip.

There is a rhythm to the thrust of her fingers, the thrust of her hips, which Janet finds and Bianca chases, until she’s crying out, loud, when Janet presses her thumb against her clit. She's trembling, body arched and head thrown back as she comes; and Janet thinks she'd like to watch her fall apart for the rest of her life. Bianca slumps against her, squeezes her eyes shut, presses her forehead against the jut of Janet’s collarbone, lets her orgasm wash over her. 

‘For me?’

‘Oh, shut up’, Bianca chuckles, and Janet can feel her stomach muscles contract with laughter, her teeth scrape the skin of her shoulder, her fingers dance along the sides of her body, underneath her blouse. 


End file.
